


dream of winter

by somnambulism



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bittersweet, Dreamsharing, F/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnambulism/pseuds/somnambulism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three loosely related winter themed drabbles. Pre-Trespasser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dream of winter

Solas flipped through a thick, moldy book in deep concentration until a scribbled note interrupted the diagrams of constellations and ancient lore. He traced the script in time with a slow intake of breath.. The Inquisitor had gone through his things when he was not looking, the same way she intruded in his heart. He pictured her tiptoeing in the library to peek at his books, not different from how he sometimes painted or studied in her quarters. What would have been invasive earlier on was welcomed and even silently encouraged. It was how they let the other know that this was real, that what had happened did.

"Solas." The mage looked up at the sound of his name. There she was, holding a bowl of soup and looking like she'd wandered in accidentally. Lavellan placed the meal on his desk and failed to convince him, or anyone watching, this was only a business matter. 

"We need to do something about the drafts. Add that to the list of repairs," she said in her practical just-an-observant-leader tone. The bothersome chilly weather gave her an excuse to get creative when keeping the cold away.

"Thank you." Solas gestured for her to sit and she pulled up a chair. She brightened when he set his book aside and took a sip. That warmed him more than anything else could.

* * *

Another month, some renovations later, By nightfall, most other residents had retreated indoors and mottled landscape was refreshed with new, clean snow. A fresh set of footprints—hers, Solas recognized from its pacing—led straight to where Lavellan waited. She sat on a stone bench in the gardens, hands curled around a steaming mug of tea, and contemplated the sky for answers. 

Solas joined her in silence, saving words for when he would visit later when she slept. They leaned into each other, in spirit and reality. She prompted him to join her inside by a fire. 

"In a while," he said. And she replied with good night, sweet dreams. Meaning see you later. She took their Fade meetings for granted, not expecting their memory to bring so much pain in the future. Unconditional was not a two-way street

Solas dreamt of her most when he felt himself drifting from his mission. There were more important plans in action than what she had for him, things he wanted to fix from years before he met her. So the mornings after he dosed himself with caffeine, sharp and bitter, to dull the memories of his dreams of her. His biggest distraction.

He burned his own tongue to wash her taste out of his mouth but even tea could not deny what they had, what they were.

Later. Some other day, some other world. He never felt more polarized than when he dreamt with Lavellan, one hand ready to sacrifice the world and the other wanting to hold her.

* * *

One night after the Breach closed, the Inquisitor fell asleep angry and alone. In her dream, she was transported from Skyhold to someplace imaginary crossed between her Free Marches home and the Hinterlands. The trees stretched up to the heavens and melted into the star-specked sky. Lost in a blizzard, she followed one misleading trail to another and another, wandering farther away from sanity. From belonging.

She called out for him instinctively though she had not seen him awake or otherwise in months. They led her to a solitary figure, its back turned to her. When she reached the shadow, Lavellan found nothing but an oddly shaped tree. Since then the dream (nightmare) repeated in different forms, changing with the moon.

In her waking hours away from duty, she poured over the books he left behind. She committed her memories into a diary. She never wanted to forget though the past was more painful than the present. We were real she told herself but when she slept, the emptiness where "They" used to be screamed that they weren't. It was over. He was gone. 

He was never here.

**Author's Note:**

> part of a gift exchange not hosted on ao3.


End file.
